


Where Did You Come From, Kit?

by KadeAK (zacixn)



Series: Our Blood Is One And The Same [Biological Dad AU] [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: "Biological Dad" AU, "Hybrid" AU, Gen, IRL Setting / No Respawns, Internalised Furryphobia, Secret Fox Hybrid Wilbur, Speciesism, This AU is what happens if you see the word Furryphobia and then proceed to take it too seriously., i am not tagging sally or wilbur's relationship with her. in this au we hate sally. boooo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacixn/pseuds/KadeAK
Summary: Hybrids are an ancient species of humans crossed with animals, blessed with the favour of nature. They used to live in peace on the SMP’s land, but ever since the dawn of humanity’s modern culture, they have become ostracised and hunted by their once-brethren. Now, the once-thriving subspecies of hybrids have been reduced to ashes, the majority of their peoples struggling to survive in a city capital that can't stand their presence.To the members of L’Manburg, General Wilbur Soot is just another mildly prejudiced human being, stuck with a hybrid fox kit for an adopted child. However, that assumption could not be farther from the truth. As it turns out, there's a reason why he is the man he is today.This fic is entirely pre-L’Manburg.17/11/2020: We hit 600 kudos on my birthday of all days! I can't thank people enough for reading my furry block man AU.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Our Blood Is One And The Same [Biological Dad AU] [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946248
Comments: 65
Kudos: 860





	1. Don't Forget From Whence You Came

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning; if you are confused by a scene in the fic, it is probably intentional. Wilbur's memory is not the best, haha. This fic seeks to answer why he has such a conflicted attitude towards hybrids, despite being one. If a familial relationship is brushed over, it's because I'm a oneshot writer at heart. Maybe I will expand on events if there is enough interest for it. :'D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humans are cruel.

Wilbur couldn’t remember his first childhood anymore. Once upon a time, he would have been able to recall his birth family’s members by name, their faces clear and youthful in his mind’s eye. Now, though, all had left of their existence was a blur, a whirlwind of emotions, corrupted nostalgia and trauma. Only one day of his first childhood remained defined in his mind, but unfortunately, that was the day Wilbur wanted to remember the least.

The last day he’d seen them, he was so young he hadn’t even begun to develop his hybridity yet, faux human ears still attached to the sides of his head. On the night he’d turned three, there was a fire – at least, Wilbur thought there was. He could remember the feeling of fire licking predatorily at his skin, the flame dancing before his eyes tauntingly as it mercilessly tore away at the Nest he’d called home for so long.

A pair of hands – familiar, yet foreign in their panic – had torn him away from the burning wreck just in time, and Wilbur regretted not clinging to the memory of who they belonged to. They tugged a woollen hat over his head briskly, he recalled, and embraced him swiftly, whispering words into his ear that he would never be able to forget.

“Run. Run, run, as fast and far as you can. I promise we’ll come looking for you. I promise.”

So he’d ran. He’d turned, and he’d ran as fast as his little legs could manage, fear clouding his mind with panic. His family would find him, he told himself. They’d be okay, and they’d move Nest to somewhere much safer than before, and then they’d be all together again. That night, he’d slept alone for the first time in his life, curled pitifully under an oak tree and watching the horizon intently for his lost kin.

Minutes spent waiting turned to hours, and hours turned to days. Smoke rose over the treeline, and the kit knew that meant the fire was only spreading, but he still clung to hope.  
It wasn’t until someone found him in that forest that he realised his life would never be the same again.

-

Of all the things to find in a burning forest, an unconscious child was nowhere near reaching Phil’s Top Ten Most Expected Discoveries list. Normally, he’d leave the infant be – if he was being cared for by a hybrid family, they would tear him limb from limb for even looking at their child wrong. It just wasn’t worth the risk.

Tonight was a different case, though. The forest was burning, and Phil was no idiot. Trees didn’t catch alight out of nowhere in the middle of Spring, after all. The SMP had launched another raid on a cluster of hybrid dens, no doubt, and if Phil’s intuition was correct, this child must have barely escaped from the wreckage. He looked terrified, soot and ash clinging to his clothes like a layer of bitter black dye.

There were no usual signs of parents being nearby – tracks, food scraps, waterskins – just this poor, lost child. Phil felt his heart sink for the kid. He looked like he was human, too, caught in the species crossfire in the most unfortunate way possible. If nobody else found this little abandoned boy, before late, he would just be another casualty of the race war.  
Phil couldn’t let that happen. 

Approaching the fallen child with tentative steps, he knelt by where he lay, curled up tightly into a ball. Every now and then, a shiver ran through the boy’s figure, and he pulled himself tighter into himself, nestling backwards as if he were instinctively searching for his mother’s warmth. He was frighteningly skinny, long thin limbs curling around each other in a tangle as he desperately tried to soothe himself.

Phil lifted him off the ground easily, surprised at just how light the poor boy was. The child instantly nestled into the man’s cradling grip, seeking out his warmth like a cold puppy. Phil couldn’t just leave him behind now. If he had to risk getting mauled by hybrids in order to save this boy’s life, well, it was a risk worth taking.  
Holding the kid’s figure close to his chest, he let out a deep sigh, beginning the long trek back to the city.

-

Wilbur wasn’t in the forest anymore.

He woke up with a start at the realisation, a high-pitched kitsqueak escaping his throat. Had his mother come to rescue him at last? Or had a human found him and taken him hostage? He seemed to be swathed in mint green blankets, set atop a comfortable (foreign, unnatural) surface, as if someone had carefully tucked him in for his comfort.

The sound of his waking must have attracted someone’s attention, because footsteps began to ring in the distance, growing louder as the stranger approached the door. Wilbur hid himself under the covers, pulling his wool hat further over his head in barely masked fear.  
“Hey, son,” a soft voice sounded, volume barely above a whisper. “You awake?”

Wilbur didn’t reply, only huddling further under the covers. He felt his developing kit ear twitch as he heard the man approach closer, kneeling beside the human nest. The blanket was gently removed from his grip as he pulled it back to its initial resting position, exposing the cowering boy to the cool air of the human Nest.

“Hey there, little one.” the man spoke once he realised Wilbur was awake. He reached tentatively to touch Wilbur’s arm, but the boy recoiled, staring up at him with fear in his wide, brown eyes.  
“Do you understand me?” he asked, lowering the outstretched hand, and Wilbur nodded tentatively, doing his best to appear brave despite the fear clouding his mind. His family had luckily been one of the only fox nests to speak English over their native tongue, though Wilbur couldn’t quite remember why in his state of confusion.

There was a period of silence as the man seemed to consider what to say next.  
“My name is Phil,” he began, enunciating slowly. Wilbur frowned in thought at the new, weird name, trying to figure out how to say it aloud.

“F… Ph... il. Ph... il. Phil...” he repeated under his breath, earning a surprised little smile from the man. “W… where are… my kin?” His tone was shaky – he only knew how to speak because he listened to his older brother so much, really – but the meaning was clear.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, son,” Phil said in a low, dejected voice. “There was no sign of them.”  
No… sign of them? Did that mean they were gone? For good? Tears bubbled at the kit’s eyes, and he clutched the mint green blankets tighter as they threatened to spill over. Phil moved beside him, taking the young lost boy into a carefully tentative hug. 

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he whispered as the kit sobbed into his clothes. “I’ll take care of you, I promise. I’ve got you now.”  
This time, Wilbur didn’t recoil. Phil was the only one alive who he even knew about, now. He clutched onto his loose clothing, burying his face into the soft folds of the cloak. It wasn’t his mother’s embrace, but it was close enough.  
He didn’t move from that spot for the remainder of his wakefulness, falling back asleep in the human’s arms. With a heavy heart, Phil tucked him back into bed, watching him sleep for a heartbeat before settling down to rest by his side. Maybe one day, he’d stop adopting lost children, but today was not that day.

-

Being in a new environment wasn’t so bad. The walls were safe, much safer than the forested den of the Nests he’d rested in, and Wilbur liked human food well enough. He didn’t leave the room for a good few days, though – every time he tried to get up, Phil would gently set him back down, reminding him he had to recover his strength. At some point, he got a new change of clothes, though the gray beanie stayed – he realised he liked the colour yellow most, so Phil had gotten him some comfy things to wear in that.

It was all a lot to take in. Suddenly, he was being raised like a human son, and it was foreign to the boy after the blaze of his family’s disappearance. Deep down, he knew that fire hadn’t been natural – he was a kit, sensing the flow of the forest was just something his people did. The humans hated his people, and Wilbur knew that as clearly as he knew his name, so why was Phil being so nice to him?  
The child shook his head. Too much heavy thinking for his brain. He sipped tentatively on the glass of milk Phil had brought him earlier, feet tapping against the bed restlessly. Maybe things would clear up with time, maybe he wasn’t even actually a kit. Maybe they’d kidnapped him, or something, and Phil had just saved him, and that’s why he was being so nice. Or maybe Phil had kidnapped him, and he was just waiting for Wilbur to be annoying so he had an excuse to lock him away forever.

Whatever happened, Wilbur knew he had no other choice than to trust Phil, so he did.

-

Wilbur finally came out of his room on day five, to be greeted with the face of another child. He looked older than Wilbur felt, and was definitely way more confident in his appearance. Interestingly, his hair was dusted pink, and two partitions in his short undercut indicated that he had kit ears growing – though, he didn’t smell like a kit. 

“Will, this is Techno.” Phil introduced, gesturing to the boy, who was now offering a handshake.  
Wilbur took the hand gently, surprised at how solid Techno’s grasp was as they shook.  
“Techno, this is Will.” Phil finished. “He’s your new brother.”

Techno’s eyes seemed to light up, a faint dusting of pink sprinkling across his cheeks. “I’ve never had a brother before,” he said, grinning. He stepped back, making a gesture for Wilbur to follow. “C’mon, I know where all the good spots in the garden are.” His voice was far more even than Phil’s, but Wilbur found himself appreciating the honest energy the other boy gave off. The kit looked up at Phil for approval, brightening when the adult gave a thumbs up.  
“Go have fun,” he said brightly. “You deserve to relax.”

At that, he scrambled after Techno, laughter escaping his lips for the first time in nearly a week.

-

Phil knew Techno was a hybrid as soon as he’d found the boy alone in an SMP owned farmhouse. He probably shouldn’t have taken the risk when helping the pink haired kid escape, but he didn’t regret it at all. He was perhaps one of the only people living in the SMP’s capital who even tolerated hybrids, let alone would let them live in the house.  
Wilbur looked human, but there was a chance he was hybrid, too. Phil didn’t particularly want to risk having either of his sons face discrimination when in the city, and knowing just how hostile the people of the nation were, that was a tall task.

If they were to escape the bigoted eye of the general public, regrettably, Phil would need to raise them as if they were human. He hated the idea of erasing their identities for the world at large, but the idea of someone hurting either of the boys for their different blood haunted him ever since he’d found Techno as a baby.

Wilbur had already had one experience with the violent humans, and Phil would do anything in his power to keep that number at one. The child seemed to recoil every time Techno mentioned being a proud hybrid, as if he were afraid that someone was going to burn the house down and steal him away again. The look of distant fear in his eyes shattered Phil’s heart every time, but he never spoke up about it, fearful of overstepping his boundaries as the boy settled in his household.

At least he’d stopped being so quiet – Phil was grateful for that. He seemed livelier every day, a chatterbox compared to Techno once he’d properly started to use English. At least for now, the kids could just be kids. School wouldn’t start until they were six, after all.

-

Time seemed to fly by faster than a hurricane.

Wilbur couldn’t believe it’d been three whole years since Phil had taken him in. The boy’s real fox ears had started to finally grow in on top of his head, and while neither Phil or Techno had noticed, he couldn’t help but stare at the familiar tufts of russet every time he passed by a mirror. He ought to feel proud of them – he was becoming a full hybrid! – but they only seemed to haunt him. After all, his family had been murdered for having the very same ears.

Phil liked to leave the radio on for them every time he needed to go out, and usually, it was fun to listen to the people talk about grown up things like the ‘present-dent’ and ‘busyness’. Sometimes, though, the news would come on, and he’d listen with held breath to scathing stories of riots and fighting deeper in the capital.  
The men who reported them seemed to hate hybrids, and from the stories, their hatred was pretty justified. The hybrids kept going on city riots, killing people who’d taken them in, and the idea of it terrified Wilbur to his core. Were his people really like feral animals? Was he going to grow up like that?

“They’re just lying,” Techno would say when he found Wilbur listening to them. “I’m a hybrid, and I’d never do that. I bet they’re just making stuff up against us ‘cuz we’re too good for them. That’s what Phil says.” He sounded so confident that Wilbur couldn’t help but nod and agree, but he couldn’t shake this angry, violent mental image of hybrids acting like beasts.  
Had his parents been like that? Wilbur didn’t like to think about that. He could barely picture his birth family without imagining their sharp teeth, glinted eyes in the dark. They’d hated humans – Wilbur knew that, because they kept running from them. Maybe they were just like the feral hybrids, after all. Maybe he’d forgotten so much about them that he was just hoping they used to be kind and soft and cuddly. He’d only been three, after all.

…Wilbur chose to try and stop dwelling on his kit family after that concept crossed his mind. Maybe if he acted enough like a human, he could stay civil and kind and accepted by the city. That’s all he wanted.  
He flattened the growing ear tufts with a huff, tugging his beanie over it. If people didn't like kits, he'd keep them a secret. Nobody had to know.

-

School was… intimidating, to say the least. There weren’t that many kids compared to other schools in the area, but there were enough to set Wilbur on edge. He’d never seen so many humans before – they all seemed to cluster around each other in happy groups.  
Phil had given him and Techno some reassuring words before he left, tugging Wilbur’s beanie lower on his head for him. Wilbur wished he could stay for the full school day, but he left as soon as they went in, leaving the two brothers clinging to each other.

“Hey, there’s a furry here!” The jeer caught Wilbur off guard, and for a moment, he wondered if his beanie had slipped. He flinched as he realised it hadn’t been directed at him, but at another new student in the distance. It was indeed a hybrid, alone and out of their depths. They had scruffy brown hair, with what appeared to be two horns just starting to sprout from their skull. Their ears seemed to be pointed, furring at the tips. Undoubtedly, it was a hybrid.

Wilbur watched in dazed surprise as three children sauntered over, all probably only seven years old, and clustered around the hybrid boy, laughter erupting as they prodded at him. He could faintly hear them jeering at the poor boy, who clutched at his new school bag and knocked at his nubbed horns roughly.  
Before the kit could speak up, Techno had stormed over, pushing the group away. Wilbur sped after him, eyes widening as he watched his brother stand between the other hybrid and the bullies.  
“Back off, nerds,” he taunted, levelling as sharp of a glare as a seven-year-old could muster.

“Hey, we’re just playing!” a kid whined, as if she believed she was doing nothing wrong.  
“Yeah, it’s just playing!” another one supplemented. “I thought animals were supposed to like being pet.” Wilbur unconsciously tugged his beanie closer over his head.

“You don’t need to be mean,” the horned hybrid butt in, standing up properly now. “I’m not being bad or anything.” Techno made a noise of agreement.

“I’ll punch you if you make fun of us, okay!” he jeered, temper rising. The kids took a step back, unsettled at how their play had been disrupted. Losing interest now that their targets weren’t so helpless, they dispersed, running off to do something else. Wilbur let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding – despite himself, he was half-expecting either Techno or the new kid to actually start a fight. He couldn’t comprehend how Techno could muster the willpower to fight against people who disliked him like that. If they’d picked on Wilbur, he would probably have agreed with them…

He pushed the incident out of his mind, going over to join the conversation that had sparked between the new hybrid – who introduced himself as Schlatt – and Techno. Maybe if he stopped thinking about it, he could just pretend he was human like Phil.

-

For the most part, school was fun. Wilbur liked hanging out with Schlatt and Techno, and he liked learning about new things like counting and enchanting. After the first day, jeering from the students towards the two open hybrids sort of simmered down, though Wilbur noted with a sad sigh that Schlatt seemed to collect more and more bruises on him every day. He remained charismatic about it, though, much to Wilbur’s surprise, though, always coming up with creative and mildly illegal ways to scam his bullies out of their lunches.

As the years went by, and they rose up the school system, Wilbur noted with a tinge of fear how steadily his ears were growing in. They’d been barely nubs when he was seven – now he was eleven, they were unmistakably fox ears. The russet red gradient bled into his hair’s dark brown, reminding him of one of his old family members – Wilbur wasn’t quite sure which one, but he really didn’t want to remember anymore. They’d been feral, and he wasn’t going to turn out like them.

He flattened his typical beanie against his head, pressing the ears against his skull. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing anymore, but it kept anyone else from realising that he actually wasn’t human. Techno was out and loud about his hybridity, but Techno was also scary and intimidating, and Wilbur knew that Phil still worried for his safety. He’d much rather keep suppressing his kit blood if it meant he could avoid the fighting – Wilbur had always been the diplomat of his friend group.

Besides, it wasn’t like the teachers weren’t discriminatory, either. As Techno and Schlatt’s hybrid features started to become more prominent, Techno’s pig ears finally flopping over on his head and Schlatt’s horns slowly curling around his face, the treatment only became worse. Wilbur had to watch as they treated his brother and his best friend like they were sub-people during lesson, calling upon them as if they were pets. Not even Techno could stand up to the adults yet, so the two just had to grin and bear it, and it broke Wilbur’s heart. He tried to get him to tell Phil about it, but Techno had brushed the concern off. 

“You’re human,” he’d said. “You don’t get it, it’s okay.”  
I’m not, Wilbur had wanted to say. I do get it. But the words never escaped his mouth.

-

Things only got worse when they hit twelve and started a new subject – Hybrid Studies. Wilbur had initially been excited at the idea of properly learning about his species, desperate to be convinced that his people weren’t actually monsters, and that he didn’t need to keep suppressing himself in order to have the worth a human did.  
Of course, Hybrid Studies helped with none of that. In hindsight, it was a glorified propaganda lesson, one designed to foster hatred in the humans and self-hatred in the unlucky few hybrids who lurked around. According to the lessons, Wilbur’s kin would have preyed on the land itself in order to stay alive, raiding human settlements and tricking kind-hearted people into doing their bidding. The fox people were more animal than human, and if a kit wanted any chance of having the slightest scrap of redemption in the eyes of the SMP, they would need to renounce their animalistic ways.  
“It’s stupid,” Techno had said after that lesson. “I met some kits once when I was a ‘let. They were really nice.”

Schlatt nodded along, a sour look on his face. “Can’t believe they teach that crap.” (He was thirteen already, so he’d declared one day he was the adult of the group and had promptly started swearing.)  
Wilbur trailed behind the two, hands in his pockets. The other two seemed ready to dismiss the teachers’ words as gospel, but they weren’t the ones who’d grown up briefly around fellow kits. He’d seen his father snap, heard his mother yip and bark and growl, smelled the blood on the breath of his older brother’s breath. He might have been but a child, but he wasn’t stupid – kits were naturally observant. Now he had context for it all, though, the memories soured in his mind, painting a dastardly picture of his people. The kit had never wanted to rewrite his own bloodline so badly before now.  
He hung his head, barely managing to suppress a low whine of sadness that threatened to escape his throat. Suddenly, Wilbur didn’t like being a hybrid much at all anymore.

-

There was a new kid in the household.

Phil, despite himself, had adopted yet another random lost child off the streets again. Wilbur and Techno huddled around the room Phil had put him in to rest for his first night, whispering nervously to each other about what he was like. Apparently, he was another human, but Phil had found him deserted on the streets after a rally went through town. Phil had, concerned, gone up to offer to find his parents, and the boy just burst into tears on the spot.

“He might not stay long,” Techno whispered. “He probably has human family out there.”  
“What? And you think we’re gonna find them?” Wilbur hissed back. “Phil wouldn’t just abduct a five year old just because he feels like it.”  
“Yeah, but rallies are big. They just got swept along, probably.”  
“But he was found after –”

Phil appeared out of nowhere, clearing his throat and tapping his watch. “Boys, you have school tomorrow,” he said, equipping his Dad Voice. Wilbur and Techno rolled their eyes in unison, and their father softened a little. “You can meet Tommy tomorrow. I promise. He’s just a bit shaken up right now, okay?”  
That was enough to convince the boys that sleeping would be worth it. They scrambled off to their now-shared bedroom, whispering to each other the entire way there.

-

Tommy was loud.

Really, really, loud.

He was only eight years old, and yet he managed to string together so many words that Wilbur was sure he was trying to talk himself to death. It didn’t help much that he went around with his sensitive ears pressed to the top of his head half the time.  
Tommy also seemed to have some experience with seeing hybrids, somehow. As soon as he laid eyes upon Techno, he’d pointed at his newly growing tusks and practically cheered, “Furry!”  
Phil had ushered Tommy into the bedroom for a further five minutes to talk about hybrids, leaving a stunned Wilbur and Techno behind.

“Isn’t he eight?” Techno had spoken after a while. “He’s eight, right? I didn’t mishear that?”  
“Uh, yeah. Eight.” Wilbur echoed. “And he called you a fur-“  
“Furry, yeah. You don’t have to repeat it.” The open hybrid rolled his eyes. “I can’t help looking more badass than a human does, Wilbur. It’s just in my DNA.”  
The kit laughed uncomfortably. Honestly, he was still adjusting to the appearance of the tusks, himself. After their Hybrid Studies lesson on the boar subfamily, he hadn’t been able to properly look Techno in the eye, and he felt horribly guilty about it.

The door reopened, and Tommy stepped back out, a ridiculously sheepish grin on his face.  
“Sorry for calling you a furry!” he apologised, rubbing the back of his neck and eyeing Phil for approval. When he got a thumbs up, he continued with his introduction. “I’m Tommy! I am very cool and amazing and I have never ever been abandoned in my life.”

“What,” Techno blanked. “Uh. Okay. I’m Techno. Hello.” He waved, the motion stiff. Techno seemed to like playing into his monotone identity more and more as he got older.  
“Your tusks are very cool, Techno!” Tommy beamed, a ray of sunshine. “I’ve never met a nice furry before! My pops used to say—"  
“Uh,” Wilbur cut in, electing to ignore everything Tommy had said besides his name and the compliment. “I’m Wilbur! Nice to meet you, Tommy, I’m the cool one.” He switched on his cheery smile – the kids at school had told him he was very charming! – and placed a hand on his chest as he introduced himself. From where he stood behind him, Techno muttered a ‘no you’re not’, and Wilbur nudged him gently to make him stop judging his self-proclaimed superlative. 

“Are you a furry too?” Tommy asked, tilting his head, and from where he was standing behind the five year old, Phil spluttered in surprise. Wilbur flinched at the sudden question – he hadn’t ever been asked about that before. Deep down, he knew he should stop lying about who he was, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit his blood truth out loud. After all, if he wanted the slightest scrap of redemption from the bloodlust of his kin, he’d have to renounce his animalistic ways.

“Nah.” he answered. “I’m not a hybrid. Just human.”

-

Wilbur decided that he hated school at the age of sixteen.

He wasn’t any good at it. Schlatt seemed to excel in English and Maths, and Techno was the PE ace, but all he really had under his belt was a penchant for debating and a taste for music. How would music get him through life? People didn’t want to hear a repressed hybrid fumble with a guitar.

Not to mention that Hybrid Studies had evolved into Hybridology, and now Wilbur had to spend an hour every week analysing everything that made his biology different to that of a human’s. It was insulting, quite frankly. Why’d he have to get stuck with the kooky fox blood? Why couldn’t he just get born to normal human beings?

He let out a growl, snapping his plastic fork as he poked at a cold school meal. Schlatt looked over, concern in his eyes.  
“You good, man? Humans aren’t supposed to growl like that.”  
“Stressed,” he replied, putting the ruined cutlery by his plastic plate. “I just got out of Hybridology.”

“Yeah, it’s been hell,” Techno confirmed. “We’ve been covering a lot about forest species this term. Today was about kits.” The boar hybrid was basically inhaling his meal as if he hadn’t seen food in days.  
“Kits?” Schlatt leaned back in his seat – he didn’t eat at school, they didn’t have any vegetarian options that were actually edible. “You mean, like, foxes? Those guys? Can’t say I’ve ever met one.”  
Wilbur shrugged. “They’re all in the forest.” he replied, tone heavy. “Doesn’t mean I like hearing about them.”

A heavy silence fell over the table. Not one of the three liked dwelling on Hybridology. Wilbur recalled the day they’d been extensively covering farmland hybrids, and he’d had to watch both Schlatt and Techno deal with having half the class stare them down for the entire hour.  
“Hey, big men!” That was Tommy. “I just had the most poggers lesson! I learned about kits and shit!”  
Of course he was starting Hybridology, too, being twelve already. He sat by the boys, kicking back.

“Tubbo’s sick today so I don’t have anyone else to hang out with,” he complained. “It’s boring when he’s not here.” Tubbo was another human, and Tommy had made fast friends with him despite being way, way too loud around him. The two were practically inseparable, though Wilbur didn't know the younger boy all that well.  
“I’m sure you’re suffering so much,” Techno deadpanned.  
“You’re lucky,” Tommy grumbled. “You’ve got two friends. When one of them’s sick, you can just hang out together. It’s not fair.” He pouted, shuffling in his seat. “I think it would be cool if I were a hybrid. Hybrids stick together. You basically have friends assigned by God.”

Schlatt frowned. “That’s bullshit,” he pointed out. “If hybrids only befriended hybrids, Will wouldn’t be here right now.”  
“Yeah,” Techno chimed in. “We just make friends with whoever’s cool. Like, you know, human people. Maybe people just avoid you ‘cause you’re loud.” The comment was made lightly, despite the slight jab to the words.  
Wilbur rolled his eyes, trying to settle the ball of anxiety that had settled in his stomach.

“It’d be a funny coincidence if I turned out to be a hybrid, though,” he joked, trying to stave off the nausea in his chest.  
“Nah, nah, that wouldn’t make sense,” Tommy laughed. Wilbur briefly relaxed, the danger of the conversation passing, before his younger brother’s next words caught him completely off guard. 

“Everybody knows animals can’t sing.”

\--

Everybody knows animals can’t sing.  
Such a harmless comment, easily brushed aside by the open hybrids of the group, and yet it stuck with Wilbur for the rest of the week. His younger brother was, like Phil, generally warm to hybrids – he idolised Schlatt, and he loved Techno. And yet, he’d just casually dropped a dehumanising comment without a second thought.

He looked in the mirror for the first time in months, and tugged his beanie – old and worn out – off with a single motion. Two ears, fully grown, sprung up, twitching in the cool air of the locked bathroom. To anyone else, they might have been beautiful, red fur soft despite how often they were flattened against his head. To Wilbur, though, they were an eyesore, a reminder of why he didn’t belong in human society.

Did Techno ever feel this way? As if he ought to be back on the farmland where he came from? Wilbur had tried and failed to think of his old family in a warm light, but he could no longer remember his mother’s face, or his brother’s smell, or his father’s laugh. They were but faint memories, replaced and distorted through the blood-red lens of Hybridology classes.  
Wilbur realised with a start that he was scared of his blood relations.  
Not scream-in-the-night scared, or frozen-to-the-spot scared. Just… unsettled. Unnerved by the violent potential they withheld. Painfully aware that their potential rested inside him, that if he lost his humanity he would revert to being one of the beasts Wilbur overheard parents warn their kids about. He was a monster, barely restrained by the façade of humanity, and that terrified him.

Wilbur's teeth had sharpened into kit fangs, and he noticed that with a shudder, running his fingers along the jagged canines that slotted together in his mouth. They weren’t the teeth of a human, they were the teeth of a predator, a bloodthirsty animal who would, with blood staining its fur, tear its enemies from limb to limb.

The idea of it sent nausea rushing through the teen’s system.  
He didn’t want to be a predator. He wanted to be Wilbur.

Tugging his beanie firmly over his ears, he let out a deep, melancholy sigh, one that was far too dark and brooding to have escaped the lungs of a sixteen-year-old.  
If a kit wanted any chance of having the slightest scrap of redemption in the eyes of the SMP, they would need to renounce their animalistic ways. He still remembered that from his early days of Hybrid Studies. Suppressing his own nature was hell, but it was worth it to stay grounded in humanity. If he didn’t belong now, he’d carve out a new identity for himself, even if that meant forgetting his cursed bloodline for good.

\--

Wilbur only slipped up with his beanie disguise once when he was in school, at the age of seventeen. He managed to get away with wearing it after claiming it as an emotional support item, but it was prone to slipping, revealing tufts of tell-tale ginger hair. Still, he only got almost caught once, and that was rather impressive, considering the nature of fox ears.  
Techno had been in a sports club, and Tommy and Tubbo were off doing God knows what in the flower patches on the field, so he and Schlatt were alone for the day, hanging out in the abandoned music room. Nobody else really cared about the subject, so the two had claimed it as a retreat from the prying eyes of the school when Techno wasn’t around to beat people away.

“Man, you wear that beanie all the time,” Schlatt had been saying, sipping on a water bottle. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without it. You balding or something?”  
Wilbur almost choked on his spit. “Is it that weird? Can’t I have a fashion style, Schlatt?” The teen motioned at the goat hybrid’s classic business suit. Their school didn’t have a dress code, but Schlatt never dressed less than formal. It was for the ‘vibes’, he’d claimed, posing dramatically in the light.  
“Don’t deflect, Soot,” Schlatt retorted. “I’ve only been wearing this dapper outfit since I was sixteen. You’ve had that thing since you were – what, six? It’s a bit weird.”  
“It’s not that weird.” Wilbur defended.

A mischievous look crossed Schlatt’s face, and Wilbur barely had a moment to react before the goat had flung himself at him, hands reaching to uncover what lay beneath the beanie. Wilbur squawked, rushing to protect his head from the sudden attack.  
“Come on, Soot!” Schlatt cackled. “Show me your bald spot!”

The two fell into a heap on the ground, and Wilbur realised with a jolt of fear that his beanie had begun to slip. An ear poked out incriminatingly, russet red and tall, barely slipping past the edge of the fabric. Schlatt froze as soon as he caught sight of it, giving Wilbur an opportunity to kick him off of him and readjust the hat accordingly.  
“What was—” the hybrid started to ask, playful attitude replaced with one of visible confusion.

“Dye!” Wilbur interrupted. “I was – experimenting with dying my hair. It – It looks pretty shit, though! Ha ha!”

Even though Schlatt laughed along with him, Wilbur couldn’t help but notice with a stab of anxiety how his friend looked at him differently.

How would he go on living here if being exposed could happen at any time..?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next part drops in 1 day.


	2. You Don't Belong In This World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's cold outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter conclusion half. Sorry if this is not as punchy as the first half, ha ha. Also apologies for the late upload, I have got a ~cold~.

Answer: He wouldn’t.

“Dad, I want to move out.”

On the dawn of Wilbur’s eighteenth birthday, he dropped the leaving bomb to Phil. Techno and Tommy already knew – he hadn’t been very subtle about his intentions. As much as he appreciated and cared for Phil for taking him in so long ago, and cared for his brothers as if they were blood related, he couldn’t reasonably stay any longer. It was getting harder and harder to ignore the rift forming between him and his brothers. 

Techno’s tusks had fully grown in alongside his massively dropped voice, and Wilbur could not shake the lurking sense of fear he felt every time they hung out. He was still the same old Techno – he knew this, deep down – but a little persistent voice in his head reminded him of his Hybridology lessons on just how easily boars could become violent, and that fact alone scared and unnerved him.  
Tommy, as bright and optimistic as he was, tended to forget himself, making well-intentioned but far too sensitive comments about their family dynamic. Perhaps he was proud to be brothers with a furry; Wilbur unfortunately could not feel the same way.

His only other friend in school, Schlatt – well. As soon as Schlatt had graduated, he’d left town, leaving behind nothing but a coin to remember him by and a promise that he’d make it big in the city centre. Techno and Wilbur had tried to warn him against it, but he was gone the very next day, as if he’d never even existed. As if their friendship hadn’t even mattered.  
Wilbur’s shoulders sank as he watched the shock on his father’s face turn into a sad understanding. He knew how much the adult cared for him. After all, Phil had saved his life.

“I’ve found a place to stay,” the kit continued to explain, as if that would reassure his father about his reckless decision. “I know what I’m doing – I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to find work. I-“

“I understand, son,” his father cut in, with a tone of fondness to his words as he wrapped his son in a bear hug. “I’ll miss you, but I understand. A bird’s gotta leave the nest sometime, eh?”  
Despite himself, Wilbur leant into Phil’s embrace, as if he were three years old again. If he didn’t need to leave, he wouldn’t dream of it. This household was the only loving one he’d known.  
He fought back tears as Phil let him go. He was doing them a favour by leaving them, but that didn’t stop it from hurting so bad.

-

They threw Wilbur a leaving party. 

It wasn’t the biggest thing ever – just a family meet-up, really, plus Tubbo thanks to Tommy’s persistence. It was hardly even a party at all, but Wilbur appreciated it nonetheless. The family had never been overly wealthy, just steady enough to get by, and so Phil and Techno had saved for a good week to make sure the party was well-stocked with little delicacies like cake and sugar that folks didn’t typically see outside of the SMP’s richest events.

As the night continued, the party split, with Phil eventually up going to herd a sugar-powered Tommy and Tubbo inside before they disturbed half the neighbourhood, thus leaving Wilbur and Techno in the house. Alone. They hadn't been alone in weeks, maybe months, Wilbur realised dully. 

“So,” Techno started, voice dry. He cleared his throat before continuing, “You’re moving out already.”  
Wilbur shrugged. “I guess so.”

When had the silence between them become so heavy? Wilbur kept his eyes on his drink, unable to meet the gaze of his brother, for fear of seeing an emotion he didn’t particularly want to acknowledge.  
Techno made a thoughtful noise. “Phil said you’re going deeper into the city. Risky play.”  
“I couldn’t exactly be picky. The place is free as long as I’m a good tenant. Plus, it’s near a few low entry jobs, so, that’s a plus for me. I'm not exactly that skilled.” Wilbur paused in his explanation as he realised he was beginning to ramble. “I… take it you’re not going to leave home for a while.”

There was another heavy silence as the boar mulled the words over.  
“No, I’m leaving soon,” he clarified. “I got an invitation to train overseas. Haven’t told Tommy yet.”  
“Train? Like, for a sport?” Techno *had* been an ace at Physical Education, it wouldn’t surprise Wilbur if he was going to go into a type of competitive sport.  
To his surprise though, he shook his head briskly.

“Fighting. Survival,” he said. “I’m good at it, but I want to be better. I can’t stand the SMP any longer, so I wanted out.”  
At that, Wilbur dared to look up at his brother, and froze when he looked in his eyes. The warmth of his childhood was gone in the cold light of the moon, replaced with a stony determination. The kit fought to still his suddenly trembling hand, a nauseating image of a blood-stained Techno painting itself in his mind.

“That… that’s great, Techno,” was all Wilbur said, downing the drink as fast as he could. He ought to feel warmth and pride for his brother, but the only feeling that had settled in his chest towards him was a cold, guilty sense of fear.

-

If the outskirts of the capital were bad for open hybrids, the centre was near-unliveable. Wilbur couldn’t help but keep further to himself as he walked through the streets, a shudder running down his spine. Nearly every shop he’d passed by had been decorated with at least one ‘Animals Unwelcome – No Hybrids Allowed By Law’ sign. They were always in angry red and white colours, stark against the usual browns and grays that the SMP was built in.

Every now and then, he spotted a hybrid, head low and ears flattened. They all shrunk in on themselves, never making eye contact with the humans who jeered in their direction.  
Serves them right, Wilbur thought bitterly, tugging his beanie further down on his head. It was their fault for being so proud of it. 

His apartment was situated in one of the not-so-wealthy areas of town – Schlatt had taught Wilbur how to haggle prices down before he’d left, and this had been a veritable steal. It wasn’t the worst, either, respectable quality compared to some of the other buildings that looked as if they’d been raided at least once a week. 

At least here, he was independent. He could surround himself in normalcy, far away from Hybridology and Schlatt. He could free his mind of any of that animal rubbish, find new friends to talk to, and finally get over himself once and for all. Here, in this barely adequate neighbourhood, Wilbur would make himself a home.

For the first time in four years, the man felt a glimmer of hope spark within him.

-

Surprisingly enough, work came easy to Wilbur. His first enquiry had been in a bar – nothing fancy, just something sustainable while he figured out what long-term career he wanted to take. Working in the bar would open up his social doors, too – he just needed to find one that would take him, despite his young age. Bars didn’t often hire under 21, of course, but if he could weasel in and look mature enough, maybe things would work out in his favour.

For once, they did.

The owner of the King’s Head was a decently wealthy young human, with pale skin and a rounder build. As soon as he’d seen Wilbur walking in with an enquiry letter in hand, he’d basically rushed the teen through the induction process, barely bothering with interviews and the like. In hindsight, that should have been a red flag – but at the time, it had been a blessing in disguise. The bar was clean, the work was enjoyable, and the pay was surprisingly decent. It wasn't exactly glamour work, but Wilbur was never too interested in being insanely successful, like Techno, or rich like Schlatt and Tommy.

Suddenly, Wilbur found himself put in a good mood every day as he walked to work. He had something to look forward to, after all. Phil wrote him letters weekly, updating him on the household, and giving Tommy a chance to keep in touch with his older brother. The young teen wrote for pages about how cool it was that Wilbur was working in a bar, following each letter up with whole quizzes worth of questions about alcohol and women and the like.

Wilbur would write back as often as he could, answering each question in a roundabout way so as not to accidentally inspire Tommy to only ever work in bars. He kept each letter Phil sent him in a folder, leafing through the words of encouragement whenever he felt homesick or lonely.

Techno only ever wrote to him once after he left home – kept busy by his training. He wrote extensively – the letter was so long it could be a short biography, really. It was almost like Techno had brought up everything he’d ever thought of over the year and sent it over to Wilbur.  
He missed Techno, almost too much. His brother was strong, funny, kind – always had been, even when he was just three. Wilbur felt guilty for how his mind seemed to be so determined to warp the image of his sibling into that of a tusked monster, and yet he couldn’t seem to stop it. He read through the letter over and over, thumbing over each word until he could recite it backwards.  
The hybrid wrote about how free he felt in the new country, about how there was no discrimination at all. The people were less industrialised, focused more on survival as a whole. He’d met a family of kits, with hair and eyes just like Wilbur’s, and written extensively about how he’d befriended one of them, and how their affinity for music reminded him precisely of his brother. He talked about learning to hunt, fight, and track, about how he felt in tune with his senses, like he’d grown beyond the shackles of the city.

The idea of being free sparked a glimmer of hope within Wilbur's chest, but he squashed it as soon as it lit up. Wilbur belonged in the city, not in the forest. He would forge a place for himself here, where he could be civilised and human and safe, and not out there, where fire and warfare and hybrids lurked every step of the way.

Wilbur was proud of Techno, really. He couldn’t be prouder. But he was changing, clear as day. Becoming something else, getting in touch with nature, like every open hybrid dreamed of. The idea of that set Wilbur on guard, as if his spirit were begging for him to do the same, to ditch the city and live in the forest like he had as a child.

He put the letter away, somewhere he wouldn’t find it accidentally. He hadn’t fought so long to be human just to be influenced by his brother’s reckless pride. Reaching for his guitar (a gift from Tommy and Tubbo delivered a week ago) instead, the kit strummed out an anxious melody, doing whatever he could to keep his mind off of his brother.  
Everything would be okay. He was safe in the city. Everything would be okay.

-

The peace came crashing down as fast as it'd risen.

Schlatt was here, in the bar, and he looked like a mess. Wilbur resisted the urge to duck behind the counter as he watched the familiar goat hybrid stumble restlessly through the crowds, a panicked look on his face as the human patrons backed away from him.

“Will! Wilbur! Are you here?” His voice was raw; this probably wasn’t the first bar he’d searched. Was he being chased, or something? Schlatt had always managed to get on the wrong side of authority, even back in school he would somehow piss off even the most mild-mannered human kids. 

Wilbur’s coworker gave him a curious look, motioning for him to deal with the situation, clearly unwilling to even be near a hybrid. Sucking in a deep breath, the kit approached the front of the bar, waving in the general direction of where Schlatt was stumbling around. His eyes flashed with recognition as he spotted his friend, and Wilbur noticed as he sped closer that he was once again riddled with bruises and cuts.

“Wilbur, we have to go! We have to get out of here, now!” The man’s voice was in borderline hysterics, barely decipherable amidst the chatter of the bar.  
“What’s happened, Schlatt? Calm down, tell me what happened?” Wilbur took Schlatt by the shoulders and shook him a little in an attempt to snap him out of whatever state he was in, but the goat simply latched on, a look of desperation gleaming in his eyes coldly.

“Dream, man!” he yelled. “He’s gonna fucking kill us all! He wants all hybrids dead! He wants US dead! We have to get out of the city, now, before he raids this place, too!” Wilbur had heard faintly of the hybrid raids – but they’d always happened, and only to radical hybrids who demanded freedom they knew they weren’t entitled to. He pulled himself away from his old friend's grasp, hyper-aware that the bar staff were looking at him judgingly now.

“Will, mate? Is this animal bothering you?” That was the deep voice of the bouncer, a friendly man who could be intimidating if he needed to. He loomed over Schlatt, hands raised in case he needed to defend himself from the goat man.  
Schlatt seemed to recoil in shock. “What do you mean, bothering him? I’m trying to save his goddamn life!” He extended his hand out. “Come on, Wilbur, blow this place! It’s not worth dying for!” His words devolved into yelling the more he spoke, fear tainting his words.

Wilbur looked between his friend and the bartender. As much as he loved him, he didn’t want to leave. He was happy here, happy in the bar. He wasn’t any kind of radical hybrid, didn’t feel like reverting into a rabid animal as soon as danger breathed down his neck. He looked down on Schlatt, wondering weakly when the goat hybrid had fallen so far from his usual confident self.  
Closing his eyes, Wilbur pressed a hand to his forehead, making a dismissive gesture.

“Please – can you just, just go. I don’t – I don’t want to leave with you. Okay?” Wilbur backed away, shaking his head. Immediately, the bouncer moved in to grab the hybrid and haul him outside. He couldn’t bear to see the hurt that was likely shimmering in his old friend’s eyes, not as he heard the bouncer shift to cart him out.  
“Why?" he could hear Schlatt yell, and the tone in his voice broke Wilbur's heart. "Why do you stay with them? What do you have to pretend for? Wilbur, I--"  
And just like that, Schlatt was gone again, kicked back out on the streets. There was a residual commotion, and then, nothing. 

When Wilbur found out later that Schlatt had been exiled from the country, instead of feeling guilt, he felt nothing.  
He’d done the right thing by staying, right?

The kit dared not think about the reason why Schlatt had thought to come and try and rescue him. After all, Dream’s men weren’t exactly known for hunting humans.

\--

Chaos paved way for friendship.

Wilbur barely had enough time to calm down from Schlatt’s abrupt intrusion before he met Sally. He’d been put on cleaning duty the next day, possibly because the manager was worried the angry goat man would bust back in and shake Wilbur up when he was supposed to be filling drink orders. Time was imperative in a bar’s rush hour, after all, and frankly Wilbur kind of needed a break from it all.  
She caught him off guard, only slightly tipsy despite having been in the building for nearly two hours, and Wilbur remembered being entranced instantly. She was short, far shorter than he was, with long, flowing ginger hair, and a smile that never failed to reach her eyes. Somehow, though, she was alone, and nervous, and when she’d approached Wilbur looking for someone to talk, well – he’d been happy to give her a conversation or two. Anything to keep his mind off of the heavy stuff.

Two conversations turned into five, and five turned into a meeting outside work. Sally was new to the area, having moved from the dead centre of the capital, Wilbur learned. She loved coffee, and sweet things, and was homesick and living alone in an inn down the road.

“You should stay with me,” Wilbur had offered stupidly, without thinking. “It’d be cheaper. I don’t charge.”  
Sally had laughed, and Wilbur was sure she would say no, call him a freak or a simp, and go find someone who was richer and didn’t resort to working in a bar, but to his surprise, she had stayed.  
“I’d love to.”

And maybe their relationship was rushed – in hindsight, it was a ballsy move to even offer his single person apartment to someone he’d barely known for two weeks – but it felt right at the time. She was funny, and charismatic, and charming, and Wilbur was so infatuated that he forgot to slow down and think a little about what he was doing. She could be pushy, manipulative, downright rude at times - but Wilbur saw none of that. He’d been wounded, a raw display of grief in the wake of Schlatt’s exile due to his inaction, and as a result, he’d been hasty in forming this new, powerful attachment. He didn't exactly have a frame of reference for romance, indulging just this once in what his heart wanted over what his head ordered him to do.

His heart said that it wanted to stay with Sally, and so he did.

In all honesty, it all felt like a blur, one Wilbur could hardly remember even days after their occurrence. One moment he was hanging out with a friend in the bar, the next he was living in his little apartment with a probably-romantic partner, and then he was – well. 

Wilbur was barely nineteen when Sally informed him with a shy smile that she was expecting a child. That was his first clear memory for months – standing in his kitchen, jaw dropped as she showed him the pregnancy test results. Her cheeks were dusted pink, and he couldn’t see a single shred of shame on her face despite the unplanned nature of it all.

They’d celebrated together – nothing fancy, now that they were expecting a kid, they couldn’t exactly drink – and then, that was it. For such a life changing moment, it was awfully mundane, really. Sally fell asleep leant into him on the sofa, and he took the task of lifting her up and gently tucking her in to rest.  
He’d started a family. With a human. A human he cared about, and a human who cared for him.

So… why did he feel like he’d just kickstarted his downfall?

\--

It was a rainy July afternoon when Wilbur’s son came into the world at last. His cry was loud, a yowl that somehow rose above anything else. On top of his head lay a messy tuft of bright orange hair, almost the exact shade as his mother’s.

“He’s beautiful,” Sally said as she clutched the tiny form to her exhausted body. “Completely perfect.”

Wilbur had laughed a nervous but warm laugh. “I can’t believe it,” he’d said, a protective surge rising in his chest as he leaned over the bed where she lay. The doctor would be back any moment now to run some tests and set them up for their lives as parents, but for now, it was just them, and their son.

Their son, Fundy.

\--

Everything was going so well for Wilbur that he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to feel despair. He’d wanted to at least hit twenty before being reminded of his place in the world, but of course, fate had other plans. 

Wilbur ought to have foreseen it. After all, she came from the dead centre of the capital. Only bigots and rich asses came from there. And yet, he’d put all his logic aside for the sake of her flowing hair, and her cheery laugh. He’d assumed she could do no wrong, that she was a misunderstood goddess of some sorts come to make Wilbur’s life finally worth living.

Which is why the last thing he was expecting upon returning from a work shift was a terribly, awfully angry Sally waving a knife at her son.  
Fundy was crying his high pitched wail as the red-head fumed, the blade clutched so tightly in her hands, the palms were turning white. She turned around to face the opening door with betrayal and anger painted on her face as clear as day.

“You! You fucking lied to me, Wilbur!” Those were the first words she said to him that day. A far cry from the sweet nothings she’d whispered to him the night before, as they cradled Fundy to sleep.  
She motioned to the crying Fundy with a wide motion. “Our son’s a fucking animal! YOU’RE a fucking animal! And you didn’t even tell me about it! ME! The one you’re supposed to be in a relationship with!” She retched, and even though the motion was fake and exaggerated, it still made Wilbur feel ill.

“I’m not – what do you – “ he tried to speak up, but the woman kept interrupting him.  
“Our doctor called me!” she continued, pointing to her cell phone. “Told me our son has the DNA of an animal! Said it probably came from the father if not from me!” She was far beyond consoling, clearly horrified that she’d had any lasting relationship with an animal. “You knew you were an animal! And you just kept it hidden from me! I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a fucking furry, huh?!”  
Sally shoved a suddenly speechless Wilbur to the side, sending the man stumbling towards his son.

“You’d better fucking run, Soot!” she barked. “Get out of here! You ruined my life, so I’m going to ruin yours!”

And just like that, Wilbur’s happiness was gone. All he had to stave off the empty silence was the bitter crying of his newborn son.

Wilbur picked Fundy up from where he’d been left on the sofa, holding him tight as he felt helpless tears blur his vision. Cradling the little child until he calmed down, the hybrid whispered a song to his son, voice shaky and raw. Sally was no fool, she knew how to ruin his life. No doubt, by tomorrow, he’d be kicked out of the apartment and left for dead on the streets, just because he was cursed to have some god-damn fox DNA. 

“I’m sorry, son,” he murmured, keeping the little kit close. "I'm so, so, sorry."

Fundy nuzzled into his touch, seeking out the warmth of his father helplessly as his sobs turned into quiet kit purrs. Wilbur felt his heart break at the sight of his son looking so helpless in his arms, and he only pulled him tighter into his embrace, whispering a promise to him that Fundy would never be able to forget.

“I’ll keep you safe, I promise. We’ll – I’ll take us somewhere. I’ll find us somewhere. Outside the SMP, away from the capital. We’re going to be okay. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, the backstory concludes with a promise from a parent to his child. I wonder if it'll be kept, this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my furry block man fic. :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I can set you free](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26987089) by [EfoxKitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EfoxKitty/pseuds/EfoxKitty)
  * [build me a city (and call it Jerusalem)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362245) by [ThatWeirdGuyInTheBushes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatWeirdGuyInTheBushes/pseuds/ThatWeirdGuyInTheBushes)




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